


There It Is

by harinezumiko



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Blackmail, Corporate Espionage, Darkness Fubuki, Family Dynamics, M/M, Manjoume Group, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partial Nudity, Supernatural Illnesses, dropout AU, improper use of Solid Vision, stormshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-05-07 23:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14681745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumiko/pseuds/harinezumiko
Summary: An office party at the Manjoume Group duel division leads to embarrassment for Jun after the appearance of an unexpected guest.





	1. Chapter 1

Corporate socialising: if it wasn’t hell already, it would certainly lead you there. Jun Manjoume drained his champagne glass and looked around at his assembled subordinates as they gossiped, laughed, drank, flirted… He wouldn’t know any of them any better after the evening was over, and even if he did it wouldn’t help him to do his job. It was a pointless torture to stand for five minutes to give platitudes about the strength of the Manjoume Group and the value of his employees’ work, then lurk for hours while they enjoyed themselves on company funds and cast knowing looks at him standing alone.

He wasn’t much of a businessman, he knew that. As much as his brothers had tried to mold him his heart would never be in it. He spent his time overseeing sponsorship deals, booking duels for hot ticket pros, trying to poach the best duelists and secure unique cards… but it was never him out there on the duel field. The cruel irony being this very party was being held in the Group’s own duel field.

“Senior executive vice president,” said a bright feminine voice, close enough to cut above the general hubbub. Momo Yamazaki from Bookings: diligent, ambitious, creative. A model employee. Manjoume accepted the fresh glass offered with a ready smile, setting the empty one down on the table behind.

“Department chief,” said Manjoume. “Good work on the Ayanokouji-Hamaguchi match up. Press has been almost favourable.”

“They turned out to have quite some chemistry, didn’t they?” Yamazaki laughed. Manjoume copied, too soon and too forcefully, and her smile slipped slightly. “We can expect increased sales of Ayanokouji-san’s merchandise line now, I think.”

“About time.” Manjoume had only signed Ayanokouji under pressure from his brothers, who were golf buddies with Ayanokouji’s father or some such nonsense. He’d been a disappointment from the start.

Something caught Yamazaki’s attention over Manjoume’s shoulder, and she waved. “Umm… happy birthday, senior executive vice president.” She clinked his glass with her own.

“How did you…” Manjoume began, but she was gone, winding her way through the throng. He huffed out a breath and slunk back into the corner, eyeing the new wine stain on his white shirt cuff.

The room pitched into darkness.

Someone screamed.

A blaze erupted in the centre of the room with a whoomph. A dark figure emerged to stand silhouetted against the flame.

Manjoume fumbled for his phone, being too far from the alarm, and dropped it. Bending down to try to search for it was a mistake as he banged his head on the table edge. He straightened up, cursing, and came to two realisations: one, he’d felt no heat from the flame; and two, no-one else was panicking or running for the exit. Indeed, there was actually a small smattering of applause as the fire died.

The lights came back on and Manjoume squinted against the brightness. The interloper was tall and outlandishly dressed, in a long black coat with purple and gold accents, a ridiculously big collar and puffed sleeves. The turtleneck underneath was stretched tight across his chest, clinging to a physique evidently honed by regular hours at the gym. What attracted Manjoume’s attention, however, was the duel disk weighing heavy on his wrist.

“Get me my duel disk,” Manjoume hissed at someone nearby, eyes locked on the newcomer. He was running through lists of pros in his head – it was hard to tell, with the sharp-edged mask obscuring the mystery duelist’s face, and the long brown hair could be a wig, but he was pretty sure that this wasn’t someone on the Manjoume Group’s roster. He couldn’t match any others he’d wronged recently either.

Manjoume’s heart was beating fast as he strode to meet the stranger. Most likely this was someone looking for sponsorship, and wanting to make a strong impression. The Group didn’t need another gimmick duelist. But what if… Manjoume had always felt wrong, somehow, like he was meant for greater things. Maybe this was the moment he proved his qualities against a vicious opponent. Maybe this was to be his fairytale prince, whisking him away for a life of adventure. His imagination ran wild as he slipped the offered duel disk on and shuffled.

The other smiled, a satisfied hum escaping his taut lips as he pushed his deck into place.

“Duel!”

“Duel!”

“I draw.” The intruder slipped six cards from the top of his deck, his expression inscrutable under the mask as he scanned them. Manjoume drew five. Not a bad hand – three monsters, a trap and a spell, nicely balanced.

“I summon Red-Eyes Black Chick in attack position, and send it to the graveyard to special summon Red-Eyes Black Dragon from my hand.” The dragon reared up behind the intruder with a roar, its wingspan causing the assembled guests to press back further against the walls.

“A little early for such a powerful card, don’t you think?” Manjoume was crowing inside. A well-known archetype, and a normal monster – it wouldn’t stand a chance against his deck. “You can’t attack this turn.”

“Oh, I’m never premature.” The other duelist aimed a smirk at their audience, earning a few titters from the ladies. “And I don’t need to attack to make my mark. I activate Dragon’s Gunfire to deal you damage of 800 life points.”

Manjoume involuntarily braced an arm against the gout of flame signifying the damage. He felt the heat rising. How dare anyone do this to him!

“I end my turn.” There was something in the other’s voice that Manjoume couldn’t quite place. Not smugness, not arrogance… more excitement, or expectation…

“Draw.” Megamorph, that would come in handy. “I summon Stygian Street Patrol in attack position.” The hellish biker roared onto the field, planting its feet firmly on the ground and staring down Red-Eyes’ maw with the smaller figurehead at the front of the bike.

“1600 attack points doesn’t come close to Red-Eyes’ 2400.”

“I equip it with Megamorph. Thanks to you, my life points are lower than yours, which doubles the attack of Stygian Street Patrol to 3200.” Manjoume laughed, certain of his superiority, despite being a little rusty on the duel field. The bike’s engine revved up.

“What?” The mystery man stepped back in mock horror, before addressing the audience again with a smile. “I guess it’s not the size that counts, it’s how you use it.”

That earned another laugh from the audience, freer this time. They were beginning to relax, damn them. “Stygian Street Patrol, attack Red-Eyes!” Manjoume threw out a hand as if going for the other duelist himself. The biker launched into the air at speed, turning at the last second to bring the full torque of the spinning wheels to bear on the dragon. As the attack hit, Red-Eyes splintered and disappeared. So too did the mask covering the other duelist’s face.

There was a collective sigh from a significant proportion of the audience as the other man, unveiled, shook out his long brown hair and aimed a beaming smile at them, thumb up. He wasn’t merely handsome, handsome though he was. He had a magnetic charisma in the way he moved and when he turned his back to Manjoume, the full force of that gaze socked him smack in the solar plexus.

“You’re not just another wannabe,” said Manjoume with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Me?” The smile was now tinged with mischief. “I’m your birthday gift.”

 Stygian Street Patrol’s effect activated, dealing 700 points of damage to the ‘gift’. The coat disappeared as had the mask, leaving the skin-tight turtleneck underneath. Manjoume flushed. Some of the assembled employees were cheering, others had their phones out to record Manjoume’s embarrassment. He could walk out and have the lot of them fired. Or he could refuse to be cowed, see this duel through to its conclusion, and walk back in on Monday as if this was nothing to him…

“I set two cards face-down and end my turn.”

“Then, everyone, are you ready to go… Buck Wild!” Music started pounding over the speakers, driving and repetitive. Manjoume wiped his damp palms against his trousers as ‘Buck’ waved and blew kisses to the now screaming audience. Even Yamazaki seemed overcome, hand over her mouth and leaning on a friend. It wasn’t fair, having his attention stolen like this. Manjoume scanned his remaining cards, planning his strategy, as Buck drew.

“I summon Lord of D, Ruler of Dragons.” The bone-armoured magician, finding no dragons on the field to protect, settled into an offensive pose. Buck’s voice lowered to a stage whisper, drawing the audience closer. “The effect of Megamorph is reversed, now my life points are lower than yours. Lord of D’s 1200 attack points can take down Stygian Street Patrol on 800. My monster, attack!”

When the virtual dust cleared, it unveiled Manjoume with a cocksure smirk, standing behind Stygian Street Patrol… remaining with 1600 attack points. A quick-play spell card lay face up in front of him. Lord of D disintegrated. “Looks like he got Cold Feet,” said Manjoume. “The effect of Megamorph is negated this turn.”

Buck sighed dramatically as 800 points of damage hit him, half from the battle damage and half from Stygian Street Patrol’s effect. One by one the sleeves of his turtleneck jumper disappeared, exposing toned, bronzed arms which he displayed with fluid but deliberate moves. “I set a card face down. Cold feet, eh?  I’m not afraid of commitment, Manjoume-san.” Buck lowered his head and smiled at Manjoume, his come-to-bed eyes enhanced with sharp eyeliner. “I may end my turn, but I’ll be back. I’m persistent.”

Manjoume’s mouth was dry as his eyes locked on to Buck’s. He tried to force a swallow but succeeded only in putting a bubble in his throat that he had to cough out. He drew. Now he had a hand full of monsters – three choices. He hoped this was the right one, although it could cost him if the duel were to drag out. “I’ll end the duel this turn. I tribute Stygian Street Patrol to summon Skull Archfiend of Lightning.” The daemon arose, all bone and sinew and leathery wings.

“2500 attack points!” Buck took a step back, cowering. He had 2100 life points remaining and no monsters on the field to protect him.

“And that’s not all!” Manjoume laughed uninhibitedly, feeling he was finally on the front foot. Adrenaline tingled in his fingertips and thrummed in his heart. “I remove Stygian Street Patrol from my graveyard to special summon Archfiend Soldier from my hand. Attack him directly, both of you!”

Buck braced himself against the onslaught, before turning to his audience with a sly chuckle. “I activate my trap card, Negate Attack, and end the battle phase.” He shook his head sadly at Manjoume. “All that power, spent. You can play rough on a one-night stand but it’s gentleness that makes a lover want to stay.”

“You’re not my lover!” Manjoume shouted. “You’re my opponent!” He was getting a pretty good idea now that someone had orchestrated this to humiliate him. Kimura from accounts, perhaps, he’d denied him a promotion recently.

“Oh, Manjoume-san.” Buck looked almost disappointed. “Dueling is the same as love. You don’t feel it?”

Manjoume paused, his mouth hanging open. He’d wanted so badly to go to Duel Academia but his brothers had insisted he join the company and oversee others doing what he longed to. Now here, at this disastrous party, facing a stripper and surrounded by derisive employees, he was finally feeling alive. He laughed. “Then, bring it!”

Buck grinned back, and Manjoume felt an odd pang at that expression being aimed solely at him rather than the audience. “I see you do understand. Then, I draw.”

Buck scanned his cards, calling over a willing accomplice to check his course of action. She flushed as he nudged his head close to hers and passed his arm around her waist. When he let her go, she squealed all the way back to her group of friends.

“I activate Allure of Darkness,” Buck said, drawing two cards. “Some ladies love a bad boy… and the Lady of D, Dragon’s Protector, is no exception.” He caressed the card’s edge with a finger, before pushing it slowly into the graveyard slot of the duel disk. “Unfortunately I must cruelly cast her aside, but she will live on in my memories. I activate Swing of Memories to bring back my best girl… Red-Eyes, show yourself!”

The dragon roared as it returned to the field, its pose behind Buck seeming almost protective of his comparatively small figure. Manjoume scoffed. “She still can’t beat my Skull Archfiend.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Buck remonstrated gently. “Red-eyes, attack Archfiend Soldier!”

Manjoume winced as the 500 points dropped off his life. “You only scratched me, and due to the effect of Swing of Memories, your Red-Eyes will be destroyed at the end of your turn. You’re doomed.”

“Is that what you think?” Buck smiled, his voice low and inviting. “I still have a normal summon left this turn. I sacrifice Red-Eyes to tribute summon a monster in defense mode. I’ll also set one card face-down and end my turn.”

Manjoume drew, eyeing the two unrevealed cards suspiciously. A level five or six monster lay under one, so that meant high defense or a nasty effect. The other, a counter of some sort.

“It costs me 500 life points to keep Skull Archfiend on the field.” Manjoume tried, and failed, not to flinch as the foul wind from the monster’s wings reached him, the counter on his duel disk ticking down to 2200, just 100 more than Buck.

“Mmm-hmmm, compromise, a necessary part of a healthy relationship.” Buck nodded approvingly.

“Oh, it’s no compromise,” Manjoume sneered. “I’ll have you this turn.”

“So bold!” Buck fanned himself with his empty hand. “The ladies must find you irresistible.”

There was outright laughter in the crowd at that. Red-faced, Manjoume played a spell card, trying to concentrate on the duel. “Pot of Greed allows me to draw two cards from my deck.”

“So sad, that we always want more than what’s in front of us.” Buck beckoned to Yamazaki in the crowd and she came to him, eyes full of stars.

“I summon Chthonian Soldier in attack position.” Manjoume could wipe out Buck’s life points with one hit from Skull Archfiend of Lightning. But that tribute summon worried him, despite his earlier boast. Chthonian Soldier’s 1200 points likely wouldn’t cut it. Buck was clearly trying to goad him into making a mistake, the way he was inviting Yamazaki to feel his sculpted biceps, but Manjoume wouldn’t fall for it. “And I attack your monster with Skull Archfiend of Lightning.” The daemon shrieked, and crackling yellow light spit out towards Buck’s side of the field.

It was a bizarre looking creature that lay in wait. Red dragon wings off a skinny slug-like body, head and tail capped by incomplete silvered rings. Buck’s naughty smile unnerved Manjoume. The revealed monster had only 1800 defence points, so he’d destroyed it, but… “Time to see if you’re more S or M, Manjoume-san. My Handcuffs Dragon binds to your Skull Archfiend!”

The dragon flew across the field with a screech, its metal jaws closing around Skull Archfiend of Lightning’s wrist. The daemon tried to fight against it.

“I can negate the effect and destroy your monster if I roll a 1, 3 or 6!” Manjoume interjected. The duel disk conjured up a die, setting it in motion in front of their eyes. It came up a 2, and the dragon’s tail ring slammed shut against the daemon’s other wrist, binding its arms behind its back.

“Seems like he wants to give it a go,” said Buck. “Try anything once! How does it feel, giving up all that power to another?”

Manjoume watched as Skull Archfiend’s attack points dropped to a mere 700, and glanced again at the card he’d drawn. “I’m far from powerless,” he said, smirking. “And I still have an attack left. Go for it, Chthonian Soldier!”

The monster moved across the field far too quickly for something wearing such heavy plate armour. A few strikes of its shining cruelly-barbed sword shredded Buck’s life points down to 900. The remainder of his turtleneck dissipated in the wake, drawing a collective gasp. It wasn’t that the clothing had left much to the imagination, after the jacket had gone, but in bracing against the onslaught Buck’s tensed muscles stood out even more under his flawless golden skin. Yamazaki raised a hand as if to test whether they, like Buck’s clothes, were holographic illusion, but stopped short of Buck’s chest at Manjoume’s irritated shout. “Turn end!”

The female employees, and a few others, were clustered around Buck’s end of the duel field now. Manjoume had the perfect card to bring their attention back to him, though, just waiting to be triggered in his hand if Buck could pull off something truly wild this turn. There were no cards in his hand, and only one spell or trap on his field, so he didn’t have much to work with.

“Draw!”

Manjoume had to look away. It seemed Buck’s pectorals were doing a celebratory dance at the result. “Won’t you please put some clothes on?”

“And deprive everyone of this fine view?” Buck gave a slow spin for the benefit of the room to appreciative cheers. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to interrupt such an impressive duel.”

“Get on with it, then.” Manjoume huffed impatiently. It wasn’t that he wanted the duel to end – he so rarely got the chance, and in front of an audience no less – but he didn’t know how to compete with Buck’s unique brand of “showmanship”, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to strip himself.

“So eager,” Buck said. “A man like you, begging for satisfaction from a man like me… The thrill of the taboo…” His words meshed with the rhythmic music, feeling intoxicating to the already tipsy crowd. Manjoume remained resolute, staring his opponent down.

Buck played the drawn card with a flourish. “Call of the Haunted brings my darling Red-Eyes back from the grave, as beautiful as the day I met her. Be reborn, Red-Eyes!”

The dragon swooped back in, intimidating in size and attitude, breathing down Buck’s neck.

“She’s a jealous girl, though, Manjoume-san. I don’t think she’s too fond of you hitting on me with those monsters of yours. And when she takes out your Skull Archfiend, Handcuffs Dragon will come right back to my side to wipe out Chthonian Soldier – and your remaining life points!”

“Is that so?” Manjoume sneered. “Then, come at me!”

“As you wish. Go, Red-Eyes, Dark Mega Flare!”

Manjoume’s heart pounded as the flame reached out towards him, louder in his ears than the beats of the music. It was an experimental card he clutched tightly, a prototype passed to the Manjoume Group by Industrial Illusions for testing by the pro-duelists on Manjoume’s roster. It had happened to find its way into his personal deck, though, where it fit perfectly. And now he had a chance to use it.

“Hold it! I send Skull Archfiend of Lightning from the field and Archfiend of Gilfer from my hand to the graveyard to special summon… Darkness Neosphere!”

A flicker of horrified recognition appeared to cross Buck’s face before the lights dimmed for the summoning of the fiend. Out of a vortex of sickening purple light came a creature of contradictions: one bird wing, one bat wing; a bandaged face, but unblinking red eyes set at its breast and shoulder; a vine-like exoskeleton imprisoning tortured flesh. It stood, calm and indestructible, as Manjoume laughed chaotically. He could stand to lose Chthonian Soldier in the replay, and the battle damage would be reduced now Archfiend of Gilfer’s effect had activated, knocking 500 points off Red-Eyes Black Dragon’s attack, and he’d surely have Buck next turn with Darkness Neosphere’s fearsome 4000 attack points…

“I activate Ring of Destruction.” Buck’s face was unreadable, but his hands were clenched as his face-down card flipped over. “And I target Darkness Neosphere. We both take 4000 life points of damage. Duel over.”

“Not quite!” Manjoume crowed. “My face-down card, activate! Damage Translation halves the effect damage I take this turn. I’m left with 200 life points – victory is mine!”

Buck let his hands relax as Darkness Neosphere exploded in shimmering shards and his life point counter ticked down to zero.

The crowd were applauding. Manjoume made a victory sign with his fingers and basked in the adulation – until he realised they weren’t cheering for him. They were cheering for the slow disintegration from the ankles up of his opponent’s trousers. The more sensitive types were fast clearing the room.

Buck strode forward, seemingly unphased by his imminent indignity, to shake Manjoume’s hand. Up close, his smile was like the sunrise on a new world. Manjoume couldn’t help but blush as he maintained eye contact to avoid looking at the heavenly body in front of him.

“Thanks for the duel, Manjoume-san. You’re amazing, and I had a great time.”

“Me too.” Manjoume admitted. If he could face Buck again, fully clothed, and recapture some of that feeling he’d had during their duel…

Buck leaned in, whispering into Manjoume’s ear. “They paid me for a lap dance too, if you’re up for it?”

Manjoume jerked back, terrified, and looked frantically around for suspicious faces. Kimura was nowhere to be seen. Yamazaki was giggling with her girl friends.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Buck smiled, too sadly for an entertainer in a banana hammock. “Then, call me.”

“Maybe.” Manjoume shuffled off, red-faced.

“Ladies, gentlemen, both and neither…” Buck raised a finger to the sky, addressing the crowd as the music pumped louder and his hips started gyrating. “You know you wanna go… Buck Wild!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was partly a challenge from RustedWireWitch. I had mentioned the roughest outline to her and demanded she write it (she's funnier, more talented, and less inhibited) but she made me do it ㅠㅠ I don't think my ace ass did too well at the whole striptease part but this fic has now taken on a life of its own, and it's going to be more than just the initial concept. If you got through this chapter without cringing, well done, and I promise that's the most embarrassing part over with.
> 
> Please be kind on my first written duel. I know Ring of Destruction wouldn't work in this way any more but shhhh it does in this verse because DRAMA. I had to adapt both their decks - Fubuki's to include as many chortle-inspiring cards as possible; and Manjoume's to expand on his early deck without access to the cards that become his staples later. If either of them appear rusty, it's because they are...
> 
> I appreciate that this may well not be how Japanese office workers would respond in reality to having a stripper show up at their party. In this universe, this is just the sort of thing that employees of the Manjoume Group do. Chosaku and Shoji are not good role models. Jun isn't yet a role model at all.
> 
> I asked RustedWireWitch to beta but she wouldn't change anything... thanks anyway, love! I put "Call me." "Maybe." in for you~


	2. Chapter 2

Walking home had not been one of Manjoume’s better ideas. He’d thought the fresh air would do him good, he’d had too many drinks to contemplate picking his car up from the underground parking, and he didn’t want to face his chauffeur – or indeed, another soul – after how he’d been embarrassed that evening. But the duel field, soundproofed and windowless as it was, had concealed from him that vital fact: it was raining.

Not just a light summer rain, but a vast torrent, soaking Manjoume within seconds of him stepping outside, his umbrella reduced to mere emotional support. He snapped it shut with a growl, stuffed his hands in his pockets where they swam like goldfish at a festival, and sloshed on in the direction of his apartment.

A flash of light picked out in stark outline the tall grey buildings lining the street, followed by a low grumble that resonated with Manjoume’s state of mind. After the duel, he’d had to wait for the party to end before he could get the place locked up and leave. He’d had to watch as Buck Wild played the crowd and twirled the women around his finger. Manjoume had hoped to get a dance with Yamazaki, at least, but she’d been far too busy joining Buck’s impromptu fanclub.

The duel, though… Another roll of thunder accompanied the memory, the thrill – or the chill of the rain – sending an excited shiver through Manjoume. He checked his jacket pocket for his business card holder, the polished metal holding up better than him against the onslaught of the weather. Buck had slipped him a card, which now nestled at his breast alongside those of financiers and advertising agencies. Manjoume could call any time, expense it to the company even. He allowed himself a chuckle at the thought.

* * *

The computer screen seemed to hurt Manjoume’s eyes more than usual that morning. He sighed, leaned back on his leather swivel chair, and stretched his arms.

The chair wasn’t comfortable either. No matter how he tried to adjust it, the support would be in just the wrong place, or the armrests would butt up against his desk, or the height would slowly sink throughout the day. It was like it was trying to eject him through sheer force of annoyance.

The sound of suppressed laughter came from outside Manjoume’s door. Whatever the joke was, his personal assistant was in on it, and had been since the party.

Manjoume picked up the business card for the tenth time that day, tapping it against the wood veneer of his desk, running the sharp corners along the edge of his thumb. When the knock came at the door he shoved it quickly under a pile of equally guilty paperwork and started typing at furious speed.

“Senior executive vice president?” came the voice of Manjoume’s assistant.

“A minute,” said Manjoume, tapping the keys noisily. “Now what can I do for you,” he said, looking up, and his heart sank. “Kimura-san?”

Kimura leeched into the room, looking around appraisingly. “Just checking you got my email, sir. I really do need those purchase orders signed. If you’re too busy, I’m sure I could help you out with something else…” He tapped the stack of papers, and Manjoume barely resisted the urge to swat his hand away.

“No, thank you, Kimura-san.”

“I’ll make sure he does them this afternoon,” said Manjoume’s assistant, apologetically.

“I’ll do them when I’m free,” countered Manjoume. “And I have an appointment this afternoon.”

The assistant frowned. “There’s nothing in your diary.”

“Something just came up,” said Manjoume. “Block it out.”

“As soon as you can, then, sir,” said Kimura, moving to leave. He paused at the door. “By the way, how did you enjoy your birthday?”

Manjoume crossed his arms and rolled the chair back to give room to rest his legs on the desk. “Fine.” He pushed his nose in the air and aimed his voice somewhere beyond confident, towards cocky. “That experimental card worked really well, I thought. Did you see the expression on the guy’s face? The impact it’s going to have in the arena… Industrial Illusions just gave us the power to make or break careers.”

“I don’t think anyone else was looking at his face,” said Kimura, sniggering and walking out before Manjoume could respond. Manjoume stared after him, taut and wired.

“Will that be all?” Manjoume’s assistant hovered in the doorway.

“Yes, that’s all for today,” said Manjoume, swiping his jacket from off his chair and heading for the exit.

The revolving glass doors spit Manjoume out onto the street. He had to pick a direction, and found himself walking to the convenience store a few minutes away. He’d pick up a coffee, perhaps some lunch and a duel magazine, and maybe find a bathhouse to relax in later.

Browsing the shelves, he heard the shop door chime, and reflexively turned to look. Long chestnut hair fluttered as if blown by a flower wind, the prosaic closing of the door too banal to create such an effect. Buck.

After greeting the shopkeeper, Buck looked around. Manjoume was pretty sure he shouldn’t be able to see eyelashes from that distance. He dropped to the floor, squatted behind a shelf, and prayed he’d not been spotted. If he could time his movements, he could slide between the shelves, then make a dash for the exit. He peeked out. No sign of those long legs. He made a dive for the next aisle, put a hand out to steady himself, and missed – pushing products off the shelf with a clatter.

“Can I help?”

Manjoume exhaled, prepared, and turned to face his doom. “No, it’s fine. I just dropped something.”

“Manjoume-san?” Buck smiled in recognition, squatting next to him, and started to put packets back on the shelf anyway. “How are you doing?”

Manjoume scrabbled at the items, ladies’ sanitary products of all things, and couldn’t hide the blush as he reshelved them. “I’m well, thank you. Buck, was it?”

“That’s right!” Buck beamed. “I’m pleased you remember.”

“How could I forget?” Manjoume grumbled.

“Oh, did you need some of these?” Buck held out a pack of pads to Manjoume. Manjoume thrust his hands back, reddening further.

“What for?”

“Well, if you don’t need them for someone in particular, they’re handy to have around. Women appreciate a thoughtful man.” Buck put the last of the packs back, and Manjoume hoped Buck didn’t think he was a pervert. “Do you have a wife? A girlfriend?”

“Not… not at the moment, no,” said Manjoume, straightening up.

“An eligible bachelor, then?” Buck clapped Manjoume on the back. “Want me to set you up with my sister? She’s a great girl, and an awesome duelist, too…”

Manjoume waved his hand dismissively. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had pretended to be interested in him, only to be holding out for a job or sponsorship. “No thanks.”

Buck laughed. “Well, it was worth a try!”

He wasn’t leaving. Manjoume headed for the prepared bentos, and Buck followed. “So, do you work around here?”

“Sometimes,” Buck admitted. “I go wherever my client is, of course, but I’m lucky enough to have a number around here. It’s a nice part of the city.”

Manjoume pored over the options and scrunched up his nose. Nothing appealed. He wanted something hot. “I suppose. I don’t get to see much, beyond the office.”

“Well, then,” Buck looked at his watch. “I’ve got a couple of hours before I need to be back at the venue. Shall we get lunch?”

Manjoume stared. Buck’s smile seemed genuine. “This isn’t… you won’t… charge?”

“Not beyond the pleasure of your company, no,” said Buck, his smile dimming slightly.

Manjoume hesitated, eyed the unappealing clingfilm over cold breadcrumbed pork, and looked back to Buck in his bright floral print shirt open two buttons too low.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Buck. He waved and headed for the door. “You’re a busy man. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

“No, wait!” Manjoume shouted, dropping the bento box he was holding and running after Buck. “I’d like to.”

“Really?” Buck’s expression brightened, and as he put his arm around Manjoume’s shoulders Manjoume felt the last of his resolve collapse. “I know a great place, come on.”

The steakhouse was up three floors, and advertised by garish yellow boards. From the outside it looked cheaper than Manjoume’s usual haunts. The interior wasn’t much better, white walls with wooden benches and chairs, and the small kitchen just behind the counter set with stainless steel and plain white crockery.

“It smells great,” admitted Manjoume, taking in the rich scent of meat mixed with barbecue woodsmoke.

“It tastes better,” said Buck, flashing Manjoume a bright smile. They didn’t have trouble finding a seat. It was the tail end of the lunch service, a few diners were left polishing off their meals or chatting over drinks, giving a pleasant buzz to the room. They ordered, Manjoume first, Buck second.

“Is that all you’re having?” said Manjoume, suddenly regretting opting for the wagyu steak, and wondering if money was tight for his dining partner.

“Yeah,” said Buck sadly. “I’m working later, I can’t afford to risk a pot belly.”

“I don’t think you could get one if you tried,” said Manjoume, remembering the sight of Buck’s near-naked body gleaming statuesque in the lights on the duel field. The thought brought the flush back to his cheeks, and he rested his chin in his hands, trying to use his curled fingers to hide it.

“Trust me,” said Buck. “The minute I stop working out, this life is going to catch up with me. The late nights, the strange mealtimes, the stress of a month with no bookings…”

“You must be really popular, though?” Manjoume couldn’t imagine a week without work butting in. Through the duelists on his roster he understood the need to keep it that way. A month without a match, and people would start talking in hushed tones of ring rust and scandal, regardless of the truth of events, which could start a career plunging. But a man like Buck with twin talents had to be in demand.

Buck shrugged. “I have my niche, and I guess within that I’m number one. But the market for adult entertainer duelists is smaller than you’d think.”

“I didn’t even know there was a market,” said Manjoume, “beyond a gimmick to resurrect a bad duelist.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. “I’ve got some ideas about who hired you for the party, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to confirm my suspicions?”

“Sorry,” said Buck, “I can’t do that. I feel like I want to do something for you, to make it up to you. When people aren’t into the whole experience it’s kind of a downer. You did enjoy the duel, though?”

“Yes!” said Manjoume, emphatically and a bit too soon. Buck chuckled, his eyes creasing, and tilted his head to one side to rest on his fingertips.

“Do you have your deck with you?”

“No, it’s back at the office.” Manjoume had locked it in his safe.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’d love to have taken a look through it.” Their drinks arrived, and Buck poured Manjoume’s beer for him. “You really made me work. I play to lose, obviously, but I have to drag it out or it loses the tension. It’s a matter of balance.” Buck swirled the water in his own glass, looking appraisingly at Manjoume. “I think there’s a true duelist inside you. Buried, perhaps, but it’s there.”

Manjoume puffed his chest out in pride. “I am a duelist, as it happens.”

“I knew it! Academia?”

“No…” Manjoume slumped again. “Middle school. I… decided not to take it any further. I had the business to run.”

“That’s a shame, you’ve got the talent.” Buck seemed lost in thought for a moment, his smile dropping. “Although it might have been for the best.”

The sizzling of food being placed on their tale brought Buck’s cheerful expression back. “Let’s eat!”

Manjoume pressed the sharp knife against the crisscrossed surface of the steak, testing. It had a good amount of springiness, a telltale sign of the rare meat inside. When he cut into it the pink interior was still moist with the juices. He took a tentative bite, chewing slowly with his eyes closed. He’d been unconvinced by the reasonable price, but it was a quality piece of meat, cooked to perfection.

When Manjoume opened his eyes, Buck was watching him with a dreamy smile. “I told you this place was good.”

Manjoume looked at Buck’s plate of salad, decorated with a few meagre strips of beef, and cut off a small piece of steak. “Try some.”

“Feed it to me,” said Buck, leaning forward.

“What?” Manjoume’s face contorted, unsure of the appropriate expression for this situation.

“There’s less calories that way.”

Manjoume was pretty sure that that was not how science worked, but still, he pressed his fork into the tender meat and raised it to Buck’s lips. Buck took it with his teeth, tugged it delicately off the fork, and made a happy sigh as he chewed. Manjoume felt an odd warmth in the pit of his stomach, akin to the sense of a job well done. “Would you like some more?” he ventured.

“No, but thank you.” Buck settled back in his seat and picked up his own cutlery.

Manjoume, somewhat disappointed, returned to eating. “So how did you get into… your field of work?”

“You can say stripping if you want, I don’t mind.” Buck gathered a forkful of leafy vegetables. “I just wanted to make people happy. Dueling was… Dueling can work both ways, you know? So I figured I should do something else, something that spreads love and positivity.”

“You were a duelist first,” said Manjoume, realising. “Were you at Duel Academia yourself?”

“Yeah,” said Buck, in between mouthfuls. “For a while.”

“You didn’t graduate?”

Buck stopped, looking at Manjoume, his eyes narrowed and judging. “Something happened. After that I tried, but my heart wasn’t in it, so I quit.”

“What happened? I only ever hear great things about Academia.”

“Funny, that.” Buck laughed humourlessly. “Seto Kaiba must have a great publicist. And I’m sorry, but you must have at least five flags to unlock my tragic backstory.”

“Flags?” Manjoume’s brow furrowed, unfamiliar with the concept. “How many do I have?”

“Two,” said Buck, back to eating again. “One for the duel, and one for coming to eat with me. If you want a third, we have to go on a date.”

“A date?” Manjoume spluttered through his beer.

“Why not? I find you interesting, and you’re an attractive man. Also I want to make it up to you for the stunt your colleagues pulled.” Buck laid his hand over Manjoume’s where it rested on the table, and looked intently into his eyes. “I hate taking money for a job where someone’s clearly uncomfortable with the entertainment, so, how about I spend it on taking you out for a belated birthday celebration? Anything you want.”

“I don’t even know your real name,” Manjoume said, trying to distract himself from the butterflies in his stomach.

“Want to know the real me, huh?” Buck seemed happy. “Fubuki Tenjoin, at your service.”

“Jun Manjoume,” said Manjoume. Fubuki’s family name rang some old bells, and Manjoume studied his face with renewed interest. “You said you had a sister… is her name Asuka, by any chance?”

“How did you know?”

“We were in the same year in middle school,” said Manjoume. He’d carried such a torch for Asuka, though he’d hardly spoken to her outside of class. He’d tried to get her attention, made it to the top of the year, had all the boys licking his boots, and still she’d never so much as glance in his direction. He didn’t even know she had a brother. And if she’d said she had, he’d never have guessed it would be someone like Fubuki. The family resemblance was there, though, now he knew to look for it.

Fubuki laughed. “Of course you were. Do you believe in fate, Manjoume-kun?”

 “I don’t know.” Manjoume frowned, thinking about all the choices that had been made for him, the lack of control he felt he had over his life. “Maybe.”

“I do.” Fubuki set cash down for their meals, including a generous tip. “I think we were meant to meet, and I think you should come on a date with me. You’ve got my work cellphone number, give me a ring when you’ve decided and we’ll work something out.”

Manjoume thought frantically, not wanting to let Fubuki go without at least a partial answer. He was finding Fubuki to be unusually palatable company, and it certainly would be enjoyable to indirectly use the money Manjoume’s employees had scraped together for his own ends, but what Fubuki stood to gain from the arrangement was unclear to him. Even as he tried to leave his credit card in place of the cash, Fubuki gently pushed his hand away.

“I think…” Manjoume started, testing the words in his mouth. “I think I’d like that.”

 Fubuki beamed, and Manjoume couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’d like that very much.”


	3. Chapter 3

The curtains on the ward were too thin. They blocked hardly any light from outside, and the slightest breeze from the open window caused the rings that held them to rattle. Fubuki swiftly swiped them aside and looked at the motionless figure in the raised bed. “I don’t know how you can sleep like this, Yusuke.”

The figure didn’t move. Fubuki rested a hand on Yusuke’s forehead and, satisfied with the temperature, pushed a sea-green wave of hair to the side with a gentle finger. He pulled up a chair and sat, resting his arms on the side of the bed and his head on his hands.

“How are you doing today?” Fubuki asked. “The doctor says there’s no reason why you shouldn’t wake up any day now. Perhaps that day’s today, what do you think?”

The patient’s chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly, the sound of breathing dwarfed by the insects outside.

“I met someone the other day.” Fubuki reached out to lay his hand over the Yusuke’s. “He’s interesting. I think you’d like him. I do.” He paused, waiting for a response that didn’t come. The intravenous drip continued its glacial feeding undisturbed.

“Here’s the thing, though, he had this card. A Darkness card.” Fubuki’s voice lost some of its volume and steadiness. “I didn’t sense any malice, but… When Judai-kun was explaining to me what happened to you, he mentioned something similar. Does that mean anything to you? Darkness Neosphere?”

Fubuki waited a couple of minutes, but the sleeper remained inert, swept along only by the passage of time. Fubuki let out a long breath.

“It might be nothing, but I’ll get a look at that card, find out if there’s anything more where that came from that could help.”

Breath in, breath out.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sure I could have done something. I didn’t know… I thought I had only my own life to live…” Fubuki buried his head in the bedclothes, willing his eyes to stop smarting, and the linen to wick away any stray tears. He squeezed Yusuke’s hand, harder than necessary. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. Whatever it takes.”

After a while he stood, the chair scooting back with an uncomfortable screech, and pulled a card from his pocket. An armoured angel, a guardian of light, its wings tarnished and feathers shedding, stood golden against the night in a shadow of its former glory. “I’ve been holding on to this. It reminded me of you, before.” Fubuki lifted the corner of the pillow and slipped the card underneath. “I guess it belongs with you, though.”

Fubuki bowed down to drop a soft kiss on the unconscious man’s forehead. “I’ll see you again soon, Yusuke.”

* * *

The newspaper smacked down on Chosaku Manjoume’s second-best work desk, jolting his concentration.

“What now?” he growled at the intruder, looking up over the rim of his reading glasses. That Shoji Manjoume looked equally displeased gave him pause, and he set his pen aside.

“We’ve got a problem with Jun,” said Shoji through gritted teeth, pointing a neat finger at the offending newsprint.

Chosaku unfolded the newspaper and scanned the headlines.

“Page nine,” said Shoji. “At the bottom.”

Chosaku glanced up. It didn’t sound like a big deal if it was that far buried, but Shoji’s face was set in grim study. Chosaku flicked to the right page and tracked down. “Manjoume Group heir stands to lose all,” he read aloud, “in scandalous sex party? I don’t see what’s so bad about that, you have scandalous sex parties all the time. We’ll just pay someone to write a counter-account and it’ll blow over in a week.”

“Yes, but _I_ don’t get photographed with a male stripper.” The newspaper image was a little grainy. Shoji brought out his phone to show Chosaku the clearer image from the website which, helpfully, had a few more pictures. “That’s definitely Jun.”

“We’ll say it’s photomanipulated.”

“Then, so are these?” Shoji dropped a manila envelope on top of the paper.

Chosaku turned it over. No postage, no addressee, no markings of any kind. “Blackmail?”

“It seems so,” said Shoji. “This landed on my desk this morning with my daily post. It must have been hand delivered.”

Chosaku slipped the photos from the envelope. It was clearly the stripper from the party, sat having a cosy meal with Jun. Affectionate, even. Chosaku had thought he’d beaten that out of Jun. Again, the photos were unmarked. There was something missing. “No demands?”

“Not yet, no.” Shoji started pacing the length of the desk, back and forth. “My guess is they know how we operate, and this is just to let us know they’re coming. They may already have worse, or they may be waiting for Jun to slip up.”

Chosaku nodded. “That gives us time to work on finding out who they are.”

“And telling Jun to cut this the fuck out.”

“I’ll handle it. You work on getting that article retracted.”

“Yes, brother.” Shoji delivered a curt bow and stormed swiftly out.

Chosaku counted slowly to ten and, on the final count, very purposefully punched the expensive Danish lamp off his desk.

* * *

There was a new pair of shoes in the entrance when Jun Manjoume arrived home. That wasn’t in itself unusual, but the ladies his brothers normally invited back tended to prefer taller, slimmer heels, embellished with crystals or embroidery. These were plain, brown suede, with minimal fringing for a fuss-free appearance. Only the brand discreetly labelled inside the shoe gave away their true cost.

He put on his own slippers and divested himself of his jacket, slinging it over an arm, and slipped quietly through the house hoping to escape his brothers’ notice until dinnertime.

It wasn’t to be. The door to the dining room was wide open. Manjoume made the mistake of looking inside and made direct eye contact with Chosaku. His older brother was in smiling conversation with his guest, an efficiently turned-out woman in her fifties, but Manjoume felt that stare as a punch to his gut.

“Ah, Jun, the man of the hour,” said Chosaku, standing to greet him, his tone and outstretched arm indicating that Jun would do exactly as he said or face the consequences. “Do come in. This is Honjo-san, she’ll be joining us for dinner.”

Jun bowed politely and reluctantly stepped over the threshold. He could see a number of files laid out on the table, photographs scattered on top. “A matchmaker? Are you getting married, brother?”

“No,” said Chosaku, unsmilingly. “You are.”

Jun’s face contorted as his mind reeled. Unable to flee he slumped into the nearest chair. His brothers had talked about this before, but while they remained resolutely attached to the bachelor lifestyle he’d thought he was safe to act likewise. The presence of a guest in the home limited his possible retorts. “Now?”

“Not immediately,” Honjo aimed a reassuring smile at Jun. “Your brothers and I have been discussing some possible candidates, checking for background, status, capability and so on. Looks, as well, although that’s more subjective – it’s up to you which one of the three you find most attractive.” She slid three photos across the table towards him.

“I’m glad something is,” muttered Jun.

“Of course, you understand the importance of family,” said Chosaku. “We must have legitimate heirs to preserve the bloodline, and secure the future of the Manjoume Group.”

“I don’t see you rushing to tie the knot,” said Jun. “And both you and Shoji are pushing marriageable age.” He’d get a smack for that later.

“You would do well to think of your own situation,” Honjo said to Chosaku. “Perhaps you’ll let me have your own profiles once Jun-san is settled?”

“I will certainly consider it,” said Chosaku, dismissively. “But we must see to Jun first.”

“Of course,” Honjo demurred.

“Look at the pictures, Jun.”

The first was an elegant lady with waves of golden-blonde hair secured back with a jewelled tiara. She smiled gently at the camera, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Princess Rose,” said Honjo. “She’s about your age. Foreign, but very good family, of course, and breeding does show.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t been married already,” said Chosaku. “She’s got huge… tracts of land.”

“Well,” Honjo continued, with the lilt of a seasoned salesperson. “She does claim to be married, and to four princes simultaneously. However it seems she simply has a vivid imagination. There’s no record of any official ceremony, and she herself says there’s always room for one more prince. The Queen says the Princess may sadly have suffered mental trauma while in education at Duel Academia.”

“She’s a duelist?” Jun perked up at that.

“Quite a good one, as I understand,” said Chosaku. “I imagine the marriage would present quite some opportunities for expanding the duelling arm of Manjoume Group internationally.”

“Of course,” said Honjo, straightening a little in her chair. “All the candidates have been selected to strengthen the Manjoume Group’s position.”

“What if I want to marry for love?” said Jun, thinking back to how it had felt to sit across the table from Fubuki and have his undivided attention.

“There’s no such thing,” said Chosaku.

Honjo gave him a chiding pat on the arm. “Love will come in time, with common interests and the support of family. By all means, have two or three dates before you make your decision.”

“Two or three?” The words exploded unbidden from Jun’s mouth. “Two or three dates to decide whether I can live with someone forever?”

“Why not?” said Honjo, smiling pleasantly. “You only have three years in high school to determine your lifelong career, after all. Take a look at the next picture, if you please.”

“I don’t please,” Jun muttered, but he picked up the card anyway. The candidate was dressed in a suit and tie, the pink colour and unusual trim indicating designer officewear. She had red hair and a rather staid appearance, although her eyes seemed kind.

“Ah, another who’s close to royalty,” Honjo nodded. “Lynd is the private secretary of Prince Ojin, heir to the Kingdom of Misgarth.”

“A secretary?” Chosaku scoffed. “Jun can do better than that.”

“Don’t dismiss her outright, please. She’s the Prince’s most trusted adviser and has his ear on many matters, including their spaceflight program, which is among the most advanced in the world.”

Chosaku inclined his head as if literally seeing the bigger picture. “Broadcast networks. Defence systems. Power over stability of entire countries. And keeping an eye on the Kaiba Corporation’s activities up there wouldn’t do any harm, either.”

“She would be a great acquisition for the Manjoume Group,” agreed Honjo. “And a wonderful match for Jun, I’m sure. She’s a little older than him but I’m given to understand the age gap would not be an issue for her.”

“I’m still here,” said Jun, while wishing he wasn’t.

“Of course. What do you think, Jun-san?” said Honjo. “I understand the Prince himself is quite a duelist, if that would interest you.”

“Then, where’s his picture?” said Jun abrasively.

Honjo laughed. “We can’t have that. Not if the goal is to produce heirs.”

“The goal’s not to make me happy, I can see that.”

“Jun!” Chosaku bellowed across the table. “Behave yourself when you’re in company.”

“If you prefer someone who can challenge you,” Honjo continued unabashed, “I recommend you consider the third candidate. Her name is Emeralda. She used to work as a coach for one-” Honjo checked her notes- “Edo Phoenix.”

“Edo Phoenix?” Jun took a closer look at the photo. In a way she appeared similar to the previous candidate, immaculately presented in a suit, but where Lynd seemed to have spent her money on clothes, Emeralda seemed to have a dedication to beauty. The soft contouring couldn’t offset the fierce lines of her expression.

“Yes. She’s still with the Senrigan Group, but she’s progressed through management and wishes to become a director. It would be a phenomenal achievement for a woman. Demonstrating commitment through marriage would bring her one step closer to that aim. Again, she is older, but her personality would be a very good fit for Jun.”

“And we get out of it – a link to the Senrigan Group, paving the way for a takeover.” Chosaku cupped his chin in thought.

“And a link to Edo Phoenix, if the duelling arm could make use of that,” said Honjo, addressing Jun.

“I can guarantee that,” said Manjoume, with the most enthusiasm he’d felt all night. Edo Phoenix was still a big draw with duel fans and celebrity watchers alike, while the Manjoume Group had yet to find its breakout star.

“Do you think you could see yourself with her?” Honjo asked. “You don’t have to answer right away, of course. I can set up a meeting at your convenience.”

“Yes, set up a meeting,” said Chosaku before Jun could respond. “And soon, please.”

Honjo bowed. “I will act with expediency. I’m pleased to note your interest, and I trust Emeralda-san will be likewise.”

Jun sunk his head, feeling well and truly steamrollered.

* * *

After the meal, Chosaku saw Honjo to the door. Jun seized his opportunity and ran to his room, locking himself in the en-suite bathroom. It wasn’t long before there was an imperious knock at the door. Jun turned the bath taps to full.

“Come out, Jun.” Chosaku’s voice easily drowned out the noise of rushing water.

“I’m tired and I’m taking a bath.” Jun made no move to undress.

“Now, Jun.” Chosaku hammered on the door.

“I can hear you fine from in here.” Jun swung the window wide open and perched on the sill.

“If you won’t be reasonable about this…”

“What’s reasonable about going behind my back to marry me off?” Jun shouted. “And what if I’m already seeing someone?”

“If indeed.” From under the door, a plain manila envelope skidded across the tiles. “You’ll break it off, and have nothing more to do with this… person.”

Jun slipped off the windowsill and padded hesitantly over, holding a hand over the envelope as if waiting for it to snap at him. The light under the doorframe shifted as Chosaku paced. Jun tentatively took hold of the envelope and peeked inside. He snapped it shut quickly. “You have someone following me around now?”

“No, Jun.” Chosaku sighed. “That’s the problem. Do you think I care about your dangerous little liaisons? I didn’t. Not at all. Until someone else made it my business.”

“What’s wrong with me seeing him? He seems nice.”

“Oh, I’m sure he seems that way. But you’re a Manjoume, don’t forget. No-one’s going to be interested in you personally. Everyone is interested in what you can do for them, with your money, or your influence, or your status.”

“He’s not like that.” Jun hurled the envelope at the door, where it made an unsatisfying slap and fell.

“You’ll find out eventually. We all want something, Jun. Isn’t it better to be open about such things? I only want what’s best for you.” Chosaku’s tone softened, becoming not unkind.

“And I should only want what’s best for the family.” Jun turned off the taps and knelt by the bath, resting his head on the side.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

Jun listened carefully. There was silence for a couple of minutes, and then a shuffling of feet as Chosaku left. Jun breathed a long and heavy sigh and tip-toed over to pick up the envelope again.

The pictures appeared to have been taken from a building opposite the restaurant. They were all the same angle, apart from when he and Fubuki were arriving. Jun’s back had been to the camera while they were sat down. He flicked through, trying to analyse for reflections or other clues, but Fubuki’s presence was distracting even in pictorial form. He found himself stopping to focus on a smile, or the way Fubuki gazed at his dining partner seemingly enthralled. Jun looked around surreptitiously, though he was alone in the bathroom, folded one of the pictures, and slipped it into his wallet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, melodrama! I'm taking a lot of inspiration for this fic from Korean drama tropes, so please forgive me the occasional cliche. The Monty Python reference I have no excuse for.
> 
> A heartfelt thankyou to RustedWireWitch for feedback during the writing process.


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